Where the blackbird sings
by Dori-chan
Summary: Yes, this will be a mimato, so no flamers! Well, if you do flame me, I'll just Flame back.. Real summary of story: Yamato reflects on some things. Vague, ne?


Prologue  
  
Disclaimer: Okay, I'm making this as simple and painless as possible.. o_o; I dun own anything!   
Digi-mun's not mine, it belongs to Toei and Saban and all the other rich anime companies. So if ya  
sue me, you won't get anything except some lint..some papers...and maybe my collection of gel pens...   
O.o; Start reading, you!  
  
  
Did he remember it? Yeah, how could he not?  
"Here I am, so alone..." He sang softly, closing his eyes as the bittersweet memory enlodged in   
his mind began opening again. He moved his fingers lightly, ever so slowly and carefully over his guitar   
as the mournful tune went on. The all-too familiar tears stung his eyes, threatening to drown him and   
his voice out. With every last ounce of strength he had, he willed himself to force the tears back. No,   
not here. Not now. He prayed that the screaming feminine fans in the crowd would just leave him alone. He wished everyone would just leave him alone.  
"And there's nothing in this world I can do..." Everything flooded back, as if he was turned   
upside down and the all blood was rushing to his head. Damn it, why doesn't this song just end! He   
blinked furiously, his eyes starting to water from the effort of holding everything back, and his exhausted   
fingers burned with a deep, painful regret as it flew over the strings.  
"Until you're back here, baby..." He drew out the late note to its fullest, whispered a clipped   
thank-you, and pratically jumped off the stage heading for the back stage. The crowd of shouting teens   
surged foward against the stage as if to prevent him from leaving, but some of his old attitude came   
back as he scoffed at the crazed girls screaming their heads off at him. He quickly ran towards his   
dressing room, making some of his fellow band members stare worriedly after him.  
A tall, black-haired and heavily-muscular teenage boy, Kenji, rushed up to him, holding and   
waving a paper in his hand as if it was a 24-karat diamond. "Hey, Yamato, where've you been? I've got  
great news..." Kenji's voice trailed off as he got a good look at Yamato's dejected, disorganized face.   
Frowning, Kenji coughed loudly.   
Yamato jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "Um...Kenji..." He tried giving him a weak smile,   
but it was like his muscles refused to work.  
"Are you okay, man? You seem to be doing that a lot lately." Kenji asked cautiously.   
"A lot? Doing what?" Yamato's voice echoed faintly, making it clear he was still disorganized.  
"I'm fine..." He replied firmly, but with a cold hint of harshness.  
Kenji stared at him, bewildered, but shrugged and let it slide. After all, he had something to   
cheer him up, indefinately. "Will you look at this!" He growled seriously, dangling the piece of paper   
he had been clutching in front of Yamato's face once more. "This. Is. The. One."  
Yamato tried to screw his face into what he hoped was a understanding look, but he knew it was  
falling oh-so-short. His heart...just wasn't into it. Was his heart into anything these days? He wondered   
to himself.   
"Come on! Rejoice! Be happy!" Kenji mocked him, his voice rising with barely contained   
excitement. "This could mean our whole career!"  
"Right. I'm sorry, Kenji. I...I'm just not in the mood. Later." Yamato launched himself into a   
run again, side-stepping a totally shocked Kenji and dashed into his dressing room. Upon reaching it, he   
slammed the door with a loud clang, maybe harder than he intended to, but if he had to stay out there   
one more second, no-a fraction of a second, he would've killed himself. Or at least do something drastic.  
He let out a heavy sigh and glanced at his surroundings. True, it wasn't the best dressing room  
ever built, but it was comfortable in a homely way, and it was better than nothing. He took one step   
foward when a loud noise, like glass-breaking, erupted underneath his timberland boots. "What the-?"   
He cursed in annoyance as he withdrew his foot and peered at what he had stepped on.  
He let out another loud sigh, along with a heavy groan. How could he? He bended over, picking   
up what seemed to be a shattered photoframe, his eyes suddenly red and puffy again. Gently he brushed  
away his foot's dusty print it had left on the picture, careful not to get any glass stuck in his fingers, but   
then...did he really give a damn?   
"They say a picture's worth a thousand words..." He whispered quietly to himself. "But this   
one's worth my whole life...." As he trailed the last of the dust away, he found himself staring into a   
young teenager like himself taken a long time ago (about two years? Is that a long time? o.o-;;), only...  
this was a girl. Upon seeing the girl's face again, even though it was only a picture, he broke down.   
Tears slid down his cheeks, unchecked, but he didn't care. Nothing did anymore.  
"Oh, God...Mimi..." He crumpled against the door, his legs like jelly. Alone in his quiet, delsolate  
room, the boy known as Yamato Ishida cried.  



End file.
